Poem: Busy Street

 

Busy Street

 

clogged crosscurrents of stubborn rubber.

 

to pull a smile out of a face

is to yank the nerves of a marionette. 

 

the seethe of the similar

would reduce even a poet

to a parrot stanchioned in asphalt lines.

 

the only bits of truth--

twitches in cheeks or brows--

come and go like minnows,

scattering from deep sea jaws.

 

...  fallen

fallen the steadfast norm.

culture, fashion, human

crammed into the same.

the same.

 

the same four-letter alphabet.

the same monosyllabic stress.

 

what a spectacle, though,

so many machines to cowl 

face, throat, tongue, heart,

 

mind.

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Poem: Abolitionist

 

Abolitionist

 

nothing hurts

like ignored, absolute proof.

 

they fight you on it.

they stuff people in those ships

even during your speech.

 

you live with their hatred.

they want to kill you.

you might not see children,

or old age.

 

if you disappear one dusk,

the world just goes on,

full of shackles and whippings,

 

and no god, no one,

to pull your corpse out of a pit.

or out of the same seawater

sailed by those ships.

 

and yet you speak on,

even as the gun barrels stare.

whose "rockets' red flare"?

 

you keep on.

because of what can and should be,

everywhere,

must.

 

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Great Statement By Emma Gray

 The pithy statement below by Emma Gray captures so much about what is draining, cruel and wrong about 21st century civilization (and previous).  What she talks about is what we, as a species, need to overcome.

We need to evolve ethically and psychologically.    

If we don't evolve, we are headed right toward WWIII--due to nationalism and fascism wielded by demagogic narcissists:

I have spent a decade writing columns and news stories about men who have been thrust into positions of power despite having made a plethora of mistakes — mistakes that suggest a lack of respect for people who don’t look like them and act like them. They consistently fail up through the ranks of corporate America and Hollywood and Big Tech like they’re encased in Teflon. The human collateral damage that might be left in their wake goes largely unacknowledged.  Emma Gray

https://www.msnbc.com/opinion/jeopardy-host-mike-richards-exactly-who-you-think-he-n1277227

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Poem: Wrestle

 

Wrestle

 

we sapients wrestle with ourselves,

reason versus the cruel.

 

would joy break into outer space,

the Earth crack, a sweet cosmic egg?

 

or would people go extinct

and Nature green-over our nuke-boom slide?

 

for now, anyway,

herds would fail to run wild,

reduced instead to packaged meat.

 

trees would grow runt,

enshadowed by sawmills.

flowers huddle, oceans stink.

 

we hungry, needy sapients

we grapple the globe

with our straight-lined, fence-bound 

wrestler's grip.

who needs ice in the arctic circle,

when you have air conditioners?

who needs sanity when you have computers?

who needs weather?

who needs nature at all?

 

==============

Having a rough time.  Edited almost every poem I wrote since October.  No certainty.  In my brain or in the world.  Afghanistan debacle unspeakable.  One more horror.  It all mounts.  

Poem: Lack of Dilemma

 

Lack of Dilemma

 

a thought

seeps through small cracks

in the dronespeech of the screen

in the next room,

 

through the tiny, tiny cracks,

the smallest seams in the dronespeech.

 

maybe it seeps, too,

through the texty-touchy-clickety-twittery facebook tik-tokking.

 

but so what and what

to do or not to do

about doing nothing 

or about the doing?

 

in the body of cellphone society

 we are all cells in gab-gab gabbing gaggles,

where no one is listening 

except AI.

=========================

7/24

Dream Quote

======== 

Sometimes history must die, even your own, to seed the future--dream.

========

Poem: Rain Over Field

 

Rain Over Field

 

a grey drama of clouds

humors the wail-whipped wind

to cast forth a crying, fickle curse,

 

a spell 

to coax the quick of plants

into lacework orgies 

of spriggish love.  

under a misty maze, uncertain in height,

the nudity of worms 

wriggles its feed-me dance

until it becomes far too clear

the lack-of-sun craves 

seeds of hope.

and yet the lack-of-shine 

in the torpid drops

crashes into ruts too doubtful:

pathways slain to passage,

roads that no longer believe 

in the tenderness of water.

==========================

7/30 .. such a bad poem, chopped it way down, refigured

Poem: Snow Melt

 

Snow Melt

 

what mean passion slew a serene heart

which swelled as brave as Pegasus?

 

must contours weep to evict smooth muscles

for irascible nettles, 

those long-dead scarecrows

viscid with sludge?

 

the ashen, shrunken sun, 

do embers of regret 

rage in its spears?

or does the snow 

flee on its own devices,

tired of the envy of clouds?

why so envious, those clouds, 

raptures faraway,  closer to heaven?

similar, yes, to the beauty of the snow

save for the constancy they shed 

to fly.

==========================

7/30 ... heavy rework

Poem: 3am Switch

 

3am Switch 

 

the lamp attacked my cochleas

with a flood of bright noise.

there was prophecy 

in the proclamation of this light,

a divine army of minature chariots, 

turreted by wattage and fueled 

by the distilled extract of wheeled fire.

but it was still a dream,

 which i knew because the phrase 

"jounce of amps" defied limbo’s snore.

crackles and blasts of further defiance

swung between two "essential apogees,"

two "incompatible weltanschauungs of angel and abyss."

 

in the same way that a star

could fall for light years,

if only to raise a single hair on a single head,

in that way, a slain part of me rose up,

ready to die again, even as my heartbeak spiked

to implore another chance,

 

to demand innocence,

in the flood of this cold bright second of

trillions of pleas and bursts,

each as small as a lumen,

as implacable as a chemical,

as shocked as a Jekyll,

all of them, just like that,

switch on, charged up. 

====================

7/31/24

Light woke me up.  Went back to sleep.

Regarding The Poems

 

Thank you for reading the poems!

Often the poems are not in the best of shape when I put them up.  The reason I post them is that they get more attention from me than if I filed them somewhere.  

Sometimes poems don’t get modified at all after posting.  Others get edited into decent shape after a few days.  In some cases, it takes me a long time to get things even somewhat right.   “Crystal Ball,” “Mosquitoes on a Screen,” and “Written,” for instance, involve months of struggle.

The editing process never really ends.  And, of course, some poems will never be ‘good’, simply due to my lack of ability. 

I am very glad, though, that some people find a bit of impact reading them.

Fly Well In The Dark,

 OWL

owlwholaughs@gmail.com

==================

Poem: Glass Pitcher

 

Glass Pitcher

 

curves

of sculptural water

tango hip-to-waist.

 

the swerves swoop down upward,

weightless without falter,

 

inward, introspective,

nimble of mood to spout

with ease.

 

so many beguiling eidolons.

such visually abundant

invisibility.

===================================

7/31/24 

Aug 7, 22

... "nimble of moods"

 ... changed a period to a comma

 

Powerful Piece By Charles Blow of the New York Times

 Charles Blow wrote a naked, powerful opinion piece in the New York Times recently (see excerpt below).    The title is "The G.O.P Menace to Society."

He is completely right about the extreme threat.  He is completely right that those resisting the threat, such as the Democrats, need to be aware of the immense peril.  

The question then becomes, What sort of action is Blow suggesting?  

If we come right out and treat the GOP as what it is--"a national security threat and a cancer on our democracy"; as a "zombie" thing that "can't be reasoned with"--what is the nature of that treatment?

I don't see how Blow can write what he did, then turn around and suggest bipartisanship or any sort of negotiation.  

So, what's left, Mr. Blow?  What do these metaphors of "cancer" and "zombie" entail as a response?

Blow mentions Malcolm X, without at all suggesting the use of his proclaimed tactics.  I myself am hoping enough USA citizens can just start speaking up enough for a Martin Luther King, Jr-kind of momentum.  An overwhelming peaceful protest from so many quarters that a vast social movement is born to save democracy.

Blow's article is so evocative, honest, heartfelt and wise (I haven't included the arguments here), it should get us out of our damn seats, and speaking out.  

Streets.  Internet.  Donations.  Whatever you are doing, up it.   

OWL  

==============

“What do you call members of a party who, from top to bottom, from elected officials to voters, largely believe a lie and a liar determined to undermine, corrupt and even destroy our democracy? What do you call a party whose leaders use that lie as a pretext to suppress the votes and voices of Americans with whom they disagree? What do you call a party slavishly devoted to a cult over the stability and prosperity of a country? …

I call that party a national security threat and a cancer on our democracy …

… I have no intention of treating this Republican Party the way I treated it just 10 years or 20 years ago. That party doesn’t exist anymore. It died. This thing we have now is its zombie. Zombies can’t be reasoned with.”

 

The G.O.P. Menace to Society: Charles M. Blow

Blow, Charles M.New York Times (Online), New York: New York Times Company. Aug 1, 2021.

 

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/08/01/opinion/republicans-threat-america.html

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